


the confusion of straight lines

by missymeggins



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:50:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins





	the confusion of straight lines

_the confusion of straight lines_ ; Castle. **Castle/Beckett** , 6779 words. au post-ep for Boom. g  
  
  
 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
She's exhausted - with good reason, she reminds herself - from the past few days and she tries to tell herself that maybe she can blame it on that.  
  
_She's exhausted._  
  
She still hasn't had time to process the fact that she's homeless and has lost over a decade of her life in photos and mementos and collections and _that's_ why she wasn't thinking when she spoke so honestly to Jordan Shaw.  
  
She plays it over later in her head, kicking herself for not just avoiding the implication in Jordan's words.  
  
Special Agent Jordan Shaw confronts her about her relationship with Castle and her first response is to say _It's complicated  
_  
She regrets it the moment the words leave her mouth because Jordan is a smart woman, who sees relationships others might not, and the truth is _complicated_ reveals so much more than it should because Kate knows the reality behind her words.  
  
If there was nothing between her and Castle - if he was just a writer following her for research like when they first began - well, it would be annoying.  
  
What it wouldn't be is _complicated.  
_  
Because _complicated_ means there are feelings involved; attachments and desires and roadblocks standing in the way of _something_.  
  
And _something_ is exactly what she'd always intended to avoid with Richard Castle.  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

She's not entirely at ease in the Castle home. It's not that she isn't grateful, or that she wasn't just a little bit touched by Castle's simple statement that she had a home with him and his family, but it's stretching their boundaries further than ever before.  
  
The longest she's ever been in his apartment is a few hours over a meal every now and again and it's always been in the context of a case - or returning his mothers jewels (which were only borrowed in the context of a case, though she's not entirely sure she can convince herself that the breakfast that came after was as well).  
  
But now, sitting on the bed in his guest room, she's confronted by the reality that he _really_ meant it when he said she had a home here.  
  
It's obvious he's gone out of his way to make her as comfortable as possible; the bedspread looks oddly like her own - and yes, she feels a moment of irritation when she realises he must have snuck a peek at her bedroom after all but it passes quickly - and he's filled the shelves with several of the books that had adorned the ones in her own living room.  
  
And yeah, she thinks to herself, he is a writer so of course he has books, but the striking accuracy to her own collection is too much of a coincidence to dismiss.  
  
She's not sure how she feels about this obviously unspoken, yet somehow loudly declared statement that this is not just a temporary home in a time of personal crisis; it's a permanent refuge that can be hers for as long as she wants, any time she wants.  
  
If she's perfectly honest with herself she's overwhelmed by the prospect of sharing space with other people. She's lived alone for so long she's almost forgotten what a home with more than one person's life sounds like.  
  
She always thought she liked the silence of her own solitude but now she's not so sure. Maybe she just got so used to the quiet that anything else was too foreign to even consider. It's funny though she thinks, because only a few months ago she told Lanie that she was sick of quiet and she wanted loud. At the time she thought she was speaking metaphorically; she wanted some excitement, something different to the everyday routines of work; a fun, hot, summer-month pin up guy.  
  
But now it seems like she's got her wish quite literally; all she can hear is noise.  
  
Castle and Alexis are downstairs making dinner. She had offered to help but they both waved her off, telling her she should get settled. She kind of wishes she'd insisted on staying; they sound like they're having fun.  
  
Every now and then between the clatter of pots and pans she hears a high pitched giggle from Alexis; it's pretty much the only thing about the girl that reminds people she is in fact a teenager. It's a good sound, Kate thinks to herself.  
  
She can hear the lower pitch of Castle's voice mixed with Alexis's as they talk but none of the actual words. It unnerves her a little to realise how familiar his voice has become. It's become embedded in her memory, much like the way his number has become first on the list of her speed dial contacts, and though she can reason away the speed dial - he is, after all, her partner - she's not exactly sure how to explain the way his voice creeps into her head at the oddest of times.   
  
She starts unpacking the few things that were salvageable from her apartment and the bits and pieces she's purchased to tide her over until she can start rebuilding her life; she's rescued the contents of her closet but, even after dry cleaning her clothes still smell faintly of smoke.  
  
(Though she wonders idly if that's even real; she hasn't really been able to get the smell out of her nose since it happened.)  
  
It doesn't take her long to unpack and as she's sitting on the bed wondering what to do now, in this place that isn't her home, there's a knock at her door and she hears a tentative "can I come in?" from Alexis.  
  
"Of course," she calls back and Alexis opens the door, popping her head around it as if she's still unsure whether she should enter. She's obviously conscious of her need for privacy and Kate can't help but smile as she waves the younger girl in.  
  
"Dad just wanted me to tell you that dinner's nearly ready. And I wanted to see if you were settling in" she finishes gently.  
  
"I'm settling in just fine Alexis," she says with genuine gratitude (although she's not entirely sure if it's the truth).  
  
"Well, if you need anything just let me know," Alexis offers shyly and Kate is surprised by the depth of affection she feels for the girl, considering how little she knows her. But when she really thinks about it, it's not really surprising at all; Alexis often feels like an extension of her relationship with Castle. Kate hears so much about her, sees the breadth of Castle's love for his daughter - and not just his love but the honest pleasure he takes in spending time with her; it's impossible not to be affected by that.  
  
And it turns out Alexis is as charming as her father. Though they differ in most other ways - her clear superiority in the maturity department is perhaps most notable - they both possess what seems to be some inimitable _Castle charm_ , and together Kate can't deny that they've managed to win her over.    
  
"So, tell me," she questions Alexis, "just how scared should I be of your dad's cooking?"  
  
Alexis laughs and as they head off to dinner, lightly trading jokes about Castle, Kate thinks she might just be ok here after all.  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

"Good morning," he practically sings as he saunters into the kitchen.  
  
She rolls her eyes at his enthusiasm but has to bite back a smile. There's something nice about the way he starts every day with optimism.  
  
"Coffee?" she offers him. "There's a fresh pot over on the counter."  
  
"Oh I could get used to this. Alexis stopped making me coffee, or any components of breakfast for that matter, years ago. You can definitely stick around."  
  
He grins at her and she shoots him a derisive "Huh" in return. This back and forth is what they do and it comforts her to know that at least that hasn't changed.  
  
He sits down across from her, coffee in hand, and smiles. He's been doing that a lot lately. And yeah, he's always smiled at her but this is something different, something more.  
  
"Did you sleep well?" he asks her. "I hope the bed was ok."  
  
"It was fine," she tells him a little stiffly, unsure that she wants to enter this sort of territory with him. They don't do intimacy.  
  
( _Not yet_. It's his voice in her head because she's heard those words from him so many times before.)  
  
"Thank you Castle," she adds more softly.  
  
It's not that she doesn't appreciate these gestures of gentlemanliness, nor is she really surprised by them; she's reminded of him gently taking a garment bag from her arms and holding out his own, to escort her to dinner at Remy's, but their increasing frequency signals a shift in their relationship that she hasn't prepared herself for.  
  
She's just gotten used to his pulling her pigtails. She doesn't like change.  
  
She gets up and moves to put her coffee mug in the dishwasher. It's less about being a good houseguest (she doubts Castle is obsessive about these things) and more about creating some space between them. They've always had a tendency to invade each other's personal space, but here in his home, it feels out of place - out of context.  
  
She can feel his eyes on her though and it's been that way ever since the explosion. If she's in the room, his eyes are on her, as if he's afraid to let her out of his sight. And it's not like she isn't used to him watching her; she's felt his eyes on her ass more than once as he's followed her around the precinct, felt the way he observes her when she informs a family of their loss. But this, like the smile, is new.  
  
He's not observing her as a writer and he's not admiring her ass; he's watching _her_. She can feel it, all the time, and it makes her shiver.  
  
"Well," she says, shaking herself out of her reverie.  
  
(She really shouldn't think so much about him, _them_ , when he's right there in the room. One day her face will give her away.)  
  
"I should get to work. Bad guys to catch, and all that."  
  
He jumps off his chair, talking at high speed. "Ooh, just let me just grab my coat and I'll come with you."  
  
'Wait, what?" she stammers. "No, I'll just call you if we get a case. Like I always do," she says, trying to sound firm and in control.    
  
"But see, I was thinking since you're living here, and I'm up early anyways cos you're not exactly quiet in the morning, I should start going in to work first thing with you. You know, see what it's like day to day."  
  
He's practically bouncing with excitement, as though this is the most brilliant idea he's ever had; she can't really understand his enthusiasm and she's uneasy about the whole idea.  
  
(Later she'll be able to pinpoint exactly why it bothers her so much.  
  
There's something all too domestic about the idea of going to work together. Especially after the way she offered him coffee. And the fact that she's currently living in his house.  
  
The whole thing just makes her head spin and it's hard not to be reminded of Ryan's quip about the pancakes and frankly, she'd rather not contemplate all of the assumptions that were made that morning.)  
  
But he's already grabbed his coat and stuffed a muffin in his mouth and is ushering _her_ out the door so, as she finds herself doing more and more these days with him, she just lets it go.  
  
She's too tired to fight him for control and besides, she tells herself, so what if they go to work _together_ for once.  
  
It doesn't _mean_ anything.  
  
(But his hand on the small of her back as he leads her to the door does.)  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

Sometimes she just wants to be alone. Or at least she thinks she wants to be alone. She'll try sneaking off with a glass of wine and a book and an idea in her head that she can pretend she's back in her old life for just a little while.  
  
(She feels lost without her apartment, like she's not quite herself without those walls to come home to.)  
  
But she rarely makes it to her room.  
  
(She means the guest room. She has to remember that; his house, his room, his bed - not _his_ bed, she just means that it all belongs to him. She's just a guest.)  
  
One of them, or sometimes both, will ambush her with the offer of a movie, or ice cream sundaes or, when it's just him, a glass of wine.  
  
(It's that last one she has the most trouble saying no to.)  
  
And the problem isn't just that they're insistent, it's that they're enthusiastic. They make her feel like they really just want to include her - and she's pretty sure that's because it's true. So how can she say no to either of them? Or especially both of them.  
  
And the truth is she always has fun. She used to forget that it could be nice to just be with other people. Castle and Alexis are quick reminders though. She hates to even think in such cliches, but the truth is Castle and Alexis just light up the room wherever they are. They have an enthusiasm for life, for fun, that she's never seen in anyone else.  
  
Most nights she and Castle end up on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, either talking about the case, if they have one, or idly watching TV and exchanging lazy commentary if they haven't.  
  
It's these moments she finds herself becoming most attached too.  
  
(These are also the moments that scare her the most. She's becoming too comfortable in his presence.)  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

She turns the key in the lock. She still feels a little weird about having her own key since she's just a guest but Castle insisted that it was more practical for her to have her own, given the odd hours she often works.  
  
For once she's home early; it's been a slow day at the precinct thank god and she's ready to just collapse on the couch with a glass of wine so large she could drown in it.  
  
The slow days take their toll on Kate Beckett almost as much as the hectic ones; perhaps it's because she's not good at staying still. She's devoted her whole adult life to bringing killers to justice and that rarely allows time for rest; she's constantly moving, back and forth, between crime scenes and persons of interest, the interrogation room and her murder board, gathering information from her other detectives and trying to piece things together.                          
                                        
The quiet days should be a relief, a signal that the world is a little less dark for once, but she knows better than to believe that just because she hasn't caught the body, it doesn't exist. There's always a body, somewhere; always a family, not knowing that their lives are about to be torn apart. Slow days mean Kate Beckett is just waiting for something bad to happen.  
  
The only time she doesn't mind being still is when she's home; she can take off the badge; un-holster her gun and just _stop_.  
  
But as she opens the door she sees that's going to be a slight problem with that plan tonight. There's a laser tag battle in progress and the couch seems to be acting as a shelter for Alexis, who's crouching behind it, laser gun at the ready.  
  
"You can't hide forever, rebel!" she hears him taunt from somewhere close but she can't see where.  
  
"You'll never catch me alive," Alexis calls back and Kate wonders if they've realised she's standing in the doorway watching them. She suspects not, given the seriousness with which they approach battle.  
  
Her suspicion is confirmed when all of a sudden there's a blur in the corner of her eye as he rushes forward to attack and knocks her down in the process. As they fall in a complete tangle of limbs she can feel that her shirt has ridden up and his fingers are brushing the bare skin of her stomach.  
  
It's been so long since she felt anyone's hand on her skin but her own that she has to bite her lip to stop from gasping at the surprise of it all.  
  
(And _Oh god_ , she thinks because his fingers are so light on her skin but she can feel their warmth and it takes her mind to places it shouldn't go and this is ten times worse than when she read the love scene in _Heat Wave_.)  
  
She feels the vibrations of his laughter against her chest and then she hears "Sorry Kate, wasn't trying to make you a casualty of war but you were kind of in the way," and he's grabbed her hand is pulling her to her feet.   
  
(The problem is she's not really paying attention because all she can think about is how much she wants to feel his hands on her again.)  
  
"Yeah, sorry, it's fine, I just got home," she breathes out all in a jumble as she smooths down her shirt and tries to brush the feel of his fingers off her skin.  
  
"You ok Kate?" Alexis asks and she can't remember when Alexis moved to be standing beside her.  
  
(This is what scares her about the unknown length of her stay; they spin her about, both of them, with their effortless acceptance and inclusion. Alexis thinks nothing of surprising her with a spontaneous hug if they haven't crossed paths in a while; Castle will toss a blanket over her if she falls asleep on the couch. They pick her up and brush her off when she falls, both figuratively, and as she's now experienced, literally. They make her dizzy.)  
  
"Uh huh," she nods her head, trying to regain some composure.  
  
"Hey!" Castle blurts out suddenly. "Wanna join the battle? We recently acquired some extra laser tag gear for when we have company," he continues in that kind of sing-song voice he drifts into when he's in a particularly childish mood.  
  
She considers for a moment, trying to remember when she last did something so completely frivolous, and as she realises just how long it's been (there's a memory buried deep, of neon ice skates and arms around her waist as she laughed, but she pushes it aside) she nods and says, "Eh, why not?"  
  
Castle looks at her in mild disbelief and she grins.  
  
"Oh, I'm going to kick your ass Castle."  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

She takes the night off from the antics of the Castle residence in favour of a night with Lanie, partly because she’s been more than a little negligent of their friendship lately and partly because she needs some time away from him.  
  
She's quickly discovered that it's hard to retain proper perspective around Richard Castle; he makes the world seem too easy and sometimes she needs to remember that it's not.  
  
(She's afraid of letting go.)  
  
"Ok girl, fess up. What is this impromptu girls' night really all about?" Lanie asks with her trademark eyebrow quirk.  
  
"I just thought we should hang out," she says, with more than a little defensiveness in her tone, knowing full well it's pointless; she's never been able to hide anything from Lanie - though it doesn't stop her from trying sometimes.  
  
"Mmmhmmm. You sure this isn't just a way to avoid Castle?"  
  
I'm not avoiding him. I'm just...taking a break from being around him," she says, trying desperately to inject some conviction into her voice as she fiddles with the stem of her wine glass and realising just how ridiculous she sounds.  
  
Lanie just looks at her and she can practically hear Lanie thinking "Mhmmm" in that disbelieving tone of hers that Kate is often on the receiving end of.  
  
She sighs, knowing there's just no way she can avoid having this conversation with Lanie. But part of her knows that's exactly why she called and suggested drinks in the first place; part of her needs to talk about this before she goes completely crazy and if anyone can force her to deal with the craziness in her head, it's Lanie.  
  
So she takes a large gulp from her wine glass and confesses to what's been plaguing her sanity.  
  
"He keeps calling me Kate," she says all in a rush, like getting it out will somehow dissipate that weird, queasy kind of feeling that's taken over her stomach the past few days.  
  
Lanie looks at her like she's lost her mind a little - which, at the moment, she feels like she has.  
  
"What on earth are you on about, girl?"  
  
"Lanie, listen to me. Castle keeps calling me _Kate_. He doesn't do that. _We_ don't do that. We do last names Lanie. Castle and Beckett. But ever since I've been staying with him, he's been calling me Kate. Like it's no big deal."  
  
She can hear the manic edge that creeps into her voice and she hates it. But she can't help the way something twists inside her every time he calls her Kate; it feels like fear, but not the kind she's used to facing every day on the job and she doesn't like that she can't put a name to it, can't define what it is.  
  
"Sweetie, why _is_ it such a big deal to you? You've been working with the man for well over a year now and I know he can be annoying but even you've admitted you like having him around. Is it really so odd that he would call you by your first name? I mean, you guys are friends right?"  
  
"It's not that we're not friends Lanie, it's just that..." she trails off, realising that she actually has no idea how to finish that sentence. She doesn't even understand it herself, why it bothers her. In her head she hears something about lines and boundaries but grasp as she might, she can't actually latch on to any tangible reason that it should be a problem.  
  
And Lanie knows it.  
  
"Just what? Just that you're scared to let someone into your life on anything more than a professional level?"  
  
"Ouch, Lanie," she says quietly. "That was harsh."  
  
Lanie reaches out for her hand and Kate wants to pull it away but she doesn't because it's Lanie, and though their friendship defies the traditional "girlfriends" stereotype, there has always been love and support and honesty there.  
  
"Hey, you know I'm not trying to hurt you. But we both know that all of your relationships - friends or otherwise - have been forged through work. And aside from me, they all pretty much stay that way. When you're not at work, you're at home and _very_ occasionally, you're out with me. You don't like Castle calling you Kate because it means he's taking your friendship away from the precinct. He's making it about more than just working murder cases and that scares you."  
  
She breathes in deeply and the air feels static, like the world has stopped because she's about to verbalise the thing that, until, has only been confronted in her own mind.  
  
"Yes. I'm scared," she admits quietly. "But not because we're friends," she continues carefully. "It's because sometimes I think we can't be _just_ that."  
  
It's a truth that's held her hostage for far longer than she'll ever admit. When he started shadowing her she thought, fine, a partner; a childish, writer partner, but still, she could accept the lines of that relationship.  
  
Only, those lines would never lie straight. From almost the beginning they started bending and changing shape, twisting around them and pushing them towards something else. They build theory as partners, share dinner as friends, flirt like lovers; she knows they could be all these things if they really wanted, and it does scare her.  
  
Lanie looks at her a little incredulously and at first she can't understand why but then Lanie speaks.  
  
"Honey, no one has ever believed that you and Castle would stay just friends."  
  
"So, what Lanie - you think I should just jump him one night? Pull a Nikki Heat?";  She's getting angry now because she's so sick of all the insinuations and the assumption that eventually real life will follow _Heat Wave_ , though in the back of her mind she knows it's not fair to direct it at Lanie.  
  
"I'm gonna just ignore that little outburst because I love you and I know you're just freakin' out because I'm telling you what you already know. You just don't want to face it."  
  
"I'm sorry Lanie."  
  
She shakes her head. She's tired and she doesn't know how to walk this fine line anymore. There's _Castle and Beckett_ and _Kate and Rick_ , there's partnership and friendship and now this - this weird limbo of something undefined that taunts them because they're in each other's space all day long and it's becoming too comfortable.  
  
"I just don't know how to deal with this."  
  
(But what she really means is, she's _afraid_ to deal with it, afraid of what might happen if she does.)  
  
"Sweetie, you just gotta let go and see where things end up. It might even be a good thing."  
  
"I'm not good at letting go," she tells Lanie with as much honesty in her voice as there's ever been; it surprises even her. Not because she doesn't trust Lanie, but because she can't even remember the last time she was this honest with herself.  
  
"Oh, I know sweetie, I know."  
  
She sighs, knowing this is no resolution. But she's kind of glad that it's out there - at least with Lanie - and no longer just running wild in her head.  
  
And in that moment, she makes a decision.  
  
She'll go home - to Castle's - tonight and just let things be; she and Castle are whatever they are and she can be ok with that.  
  
(She knows they can't stay motionless forever; something will eventually propel them forward but she decides she'll deal with that when it happens.)  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

She's having trouble sleeping again. She tells herself it's because she misses her own apartment, and she does, but in truth it's about so many things she's not even sure she could name them all. Though there is one she _knows_ she can name, but chooses not to.  
  
(It's a constant stream in her head, you see. It's there, trickling behind every other thought she has and eventually the water will rise and sweep everything else away until there's nothing left but that one notion that won't leave her; that one question that taunts her daily but that she has no answer to just yet.)  
  
She makes her way downstairs, wanting to escape the silence that seems to deafen her in that room but as she crosses the kitchen floor she sees that she's not alone.  
  
He's sitting in his study in the dark and she's sure she's never seen him this still before. It triggers something in her. She used to worry about the effect cases might have on him - it's one thing to write about murders, but something entirely different to witness it up close every single day. She still struggles to find some light in all that darkness most of the time but he helps.  
  
Only now she's looking at him and he seems so consumed by darkness it twists at her heart. Richard Castle looks unfamiliar to her without his usual air of confidence and enthusiasm. She doesn't like it.  
  
"Hey," she says softly, wary of scaring him out of his reverie.  
  
He glances up at her barely holding her gaze for long; it's unusual for him and now she's sure that something's wrong because he's never been afraid to look at her.  
  
She sits down on the edge of his desk and perches there in the darkness, waiting for him to say something. She wants to have one of those ridiculous conversations with him, where they don't really talk about anything and he finds a way to weave innuendo into everything she says and she pretends she's annoyed by him but they both know that she's really not.  
  
This moment is too intense and she wants to just be _them_ , the way they've always been, the way she's used to.  
  
Finally he breaks the silence - though not the tension - with an admission that takes her completely by surprise.  
  
"I've been having a few bad dreams, that's all. Nothing to worry about." He's trying to be light, act like he's not bothered, but she knows him well by now and she can hear the slightly forced quality to his voice.  
  
"You want to talk about it?"  
  
He looks at her for a moment and she doesn't think she's even seen him this serious before. He's asking her silently if she's really ready to hear this. Because this is one of those moments they can't go back from. This is his equivalent to her confessions about the ring on a chain around her neck and the watch on her wrist.  
  
It will mean something.  
  
(And she's so terribly torn in this moment because part of her wants this; to have him share something of himself with her the way she has about her mother. But at the same time, the thing she loves - _likes_ \- most about their partnership is that he makes her smile, makes her laugh, makes her forget the darkness of the world, even if just for a little while.)  
  
But she doesn't want him consumed by this - whatever _this_ is - so she persists.  
  
"You can talk to me Castle. You don't have to if you don't want to but you _can_ ," she tells him, hoping he can hear what's unspoken in her voice.  
  
( _You've shared my heartache, let me share yours_.)  
  
He looks at her carefully and then the words spill from his lips and she wonders if he really meant to speak them out loud.  
  
"I dream that you weren't in that bathtub when I got there."  
  
His admission punches a hole in her stomach and for a moment she feels like she can't breathe; the faint smell of smoke tickles her nose and she can feel the heat against her cheek.  
  
She reaches out, hesitating before putting her hand on his arm.  
  
She's still not good at this - reaching out to _him_.  
  
She's used to doing it every day on the job - reaching out to people who are broken beyond repair - so she's good at it by now, but with him it's still new and though their boundaries have changed, become more flexible, they're still there and she doesn't know how to navigate them.  
  
"But I was."  
  
She knows those few words aren't nearly enough, but she doesn't know what else to give him.  
  
"Yeah, I know," he sighs out heavily and she can hear it; this weighs on him and the knowledge terrifies her.  
  
She could understand if it had been Martha or Alexis, maybe even Ryan or Esposito, but it's _her_ mortality that's scaring him and _that_ is too much for her.   
  
She doesn't want to think about what that means.  
  
"Hey," she says quietly, standing and moving around to face him. "I'm ok. Castle, you hear me? I'm ok, and it's because of you."  
  
She looks at him hard, trying to make him see that she really is here, unscathed and whole (or at least as whole as she's ever been).  
  
"I was scared Kate, he murmurs," only just audible, "like I've never been scared before. I mean, there have been times I've worried for Alexis' safety and the thought of anything happening to her scares the shit out of me but it's always been hypothetical. Only with you, it was real. Too real."  
  
He pauses, sensing that maybe he shouldn't be saying these things to her because once he does there's no going back but the words are already out there and they settle over her, working their way under her skin; she won't be able to pretend she never heard them.  
  
She lets out a breath that she feels like she's been holding since she got there and then all of a sudden she's standing between his legs and her lips are on his forehead, but it's less a kiss and more a gesture of forgiveness.  
  
(Not that he needs to be forgiven for anything by her.)  
  
And as she wonders if she'll regret this in the morning she feels his hands come to rest gently on her hips and she realises it's ok.  
  
They needed this.  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

The next few days they tread just a little more carefully around each other, testing the waters of this newfound intimacy they've so recklessly entered into.  
  
She tries to tell herself it's not such a big deal; it's not like they slept together, or even kissed. But she can't deny that they had some sort of _moment_.  
  
A fairly relationship changing moment when you get right down to it. But of course that's the part she's trying not to think about because she barely understood what their relationship was _before_ all of this, let alone what it is now.  
  
She can't tell what he's thinking and they don't discuss it, but it seems like he's sleeping better at night because she doesn't run into him in his study again.  
  
(She still can't sleep though.)  
  
And so they continue on as before; he ghosts beside her every day at work and she makes a home for herself in his. They fall into routines that feel like they've always existed; he bounces ideas off her - like he always has, but now it's on his couch at night as they share a bottle of wine, or over dinner where Alexis chimes in without hesitation.  
  
After a while, it's almost like it never happened.  
  
(Except for those occasional moments when her hand will brush his as she passes him something in the kitchen, or he leans just a little too close to her while they're sitting on the couch, or that one time she trailed a hand across his chest as she said goodnight, unaware until she'd done it; or that other time when, after a few too many glasses of wine, he leaned over and kissed her cheek as he said goodnight, like it was completely normal.  
  
Ok, so it's not like it never happened.)  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

"I found an apartment today," she practically blurts out. They're driving home together because somehow that's just become a habit. He's also taken to asking her what she wants for dinner. Sometimes she insists that he choose and then vetos his every suggestion until he finally stumbles upon what she wants. It's a game and they both know it but even she isn't sure exactly what the point of it all is.  
  
(She doesn't understand most of what happens between them anymore.)  
  
"Oh." He sounds disappointed and she doesn't know what else to tell him.  
  
"You know, Alexis is really going to miss you," he says after a moment, and she can't tell if she's over-analysing it or if he really is choosing his words extremely carefully.  
  
She shifts in her seat, trying not to show how uncomfortable this whole conversation is making her.  
  
"It's actually not that far from your place. So, you know, I can still drop by sometimes. To hang out with Alexis."  
  
"She'd really like that. She's gotten pretty fond of you, you know?" he says smiling.  
  
And it's that smile again, that warm, open smile that he's always used when talking about his daughter, as if he has no control over it; she simply brings that much joy to his life.  
  
It's that smile that lately, she thinks, he's seemed to use an awful lot around her.  
  
(But maybe she's just imagining it. She doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.)  
  
"Me too," she says, and she's being careful because lately her words have been betraying her; there have been too many things said (and just as many not said) for her to feel safe in simple conversation anymore.  
  
"I could help you move if you like?" he says cautiously.  
  
She smiles at him and nods; she's scared of what she might say if she opens her mouth because nothing is meaningless with them anymore. She misses the ease of their friendship.  
  
And that's why she took the apartment; she misses what they used to be and they can't go back until she moves out of his place.  
  
(Part of her thinks they probably can't go _forward_ until she leaves either, but she tells herself she's not thinking about that.)  
  
They drive home in silence.  
  
  
 

...  
  
  
 

She hears a knock on her door and Castle tentatively opens the door and pops his head around it.  
  
"You're nearly packed," he observes, looking around the room. There's an odd look on his face that she can't really identify.  
  
"Yeah," she shrugs. "It's not like I had that much to pack anyway."  
  
"Right,' he nods. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, not really sure what he's doing there.  
  
She moves toward the doorway, trying to keep her emotions in check. Her head is a whole mess of thoughts right now and foremost in her mind is the fact that she's kind of sad to be leaving what has come to feel so much like home over the last month.  
  
"Kate," she hears him say softly and before she can register how close he is, he's taken her arm and pulled her around to face him.  
  
His hand slides downwards slowly to take her hand in his and she's holding her breath because she's pretty sure this is about be another one of those crossing lines moments and there have been so many lately that she has no idea what to do with them anymore.  
  
"I just wanted to say..." he trails off for a moment and she's reminded of a similar moment, sitting in a car, wanting to ask him to stay.  
  
"It's not just Alexis who'll miss you," he finally chokes out and it's not enough - not enough of an admission or request or _anything_ \- for her to let go of the facade that this moment is nothing more than time marching on; she was always going to leave eventually.  
  
"Castle, we'll still be working together. It's not like you're never going to see me again."  
  
(This is as much for her as it is for him. She needs these consolations; without them she might not have the courage to leave.)  
  
"Right. But it won't be the same. You know, the glasses of wine on the couch. The talking. I've liked that."  
  
They're standing so close and his hand still clasps hers and she can't breathe because this it. This is that moment where they have to decide; they can keep standing still forever or they can just let go and allow the force of themselves to just take them somewhere new.  
  
"Me too," she finds herself whispering against her will.  
  
(Somewhere along their timeline he's become so much a part of her that she's started thinking in metaphors and right now she knows that they've been swimming against the current for so long that if they keep fighting it they'll drown in the struggle; it's time to just let go and float.)  
  
And in that moment it's an easy decision (for both of them.)  
  
It turns out they don't need gunfire or adrenaline or jealousy or fear to take hold of this moment; he just kisses her and she can feel herself smiling against his lips. He pulls back, looking at her with a question in his eyes.   
  
She kisses him in return and that's her answer.   
  
They start from there.   
  
  
  
  
 

 

 

 

 


End file.
